


Let The Walls Break Down

by lexterminate



Series: Touch Series [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: M/M, but with subtle changes, john murphy is a trauma victim, s1-3 canon compliant, this fic is about touch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 04:26:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9418691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexterminate/pseuds/lexterminate
Summary: touch(n.) 1. come so close to (an object) as to be or come into contact with it.2. handle in order to manipulate, alter, or otherwise affect, esp in an adverse way





	1. Mansuetude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> man·sue·tude  
> (n.) 1. mildness; gentleness.  
> Origin:  
> Mansuetude derives from the Latin mansuescere, literally “to tame by the hand.”

John Murphy knows one thing and that is he never wants Bellamy Blake to touch him again. Ever. 

It feels like knives piercing his stomach. It feels like choking; a hand wrapping tight around his throat. It feels like drowning and being burned alive: he can't breathe. He can't speak. He can't function. He doesn't know why or how, but he can't make it stop. 

Bellamy puts a hand on his shoulder, trying to get his attention. “Murphy—.“

He implodes.  

Murphy instantly feels the tension in his muscles intensify and he fights the urge to jump out of his skin. He backs away from Bellamy immediately. “Don’t fucking touch me, Bellamy,” He practically growls; his throat feels raw. He's struggling to catch his breath. 

“I’m sorry?” Bellamy asks; it’s not an apology. It sounds more like _watch your language, punk._ He's glaring at Murphy like he's done something wrong. 

“I said don’t touch me,” Murphy repeats, shrugging his shoulders to release the knotted tension in his joints. He stares Bellamy down and the older man stares back at him.

“What do you fucking want?” Murphy asks, exasperated.

“You’ve got a shift doing guard duty in 15,” Bellamy tells him, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just reminding you.”

“I know that,” Murphy replies hotly, anger boiling under the surface of his skin. "I don't need your help," He speaks through gritted teeth. He turns and walks out of the room, trying to get as far away from Bellamy as he can leaving the older man to stand staring after him, confused. 

He wishes he could dismantle his brain and delete Bellamy Blake, but the only way to do that is to die. He doesn't want to die. He’s too worked up for guard duty, but it’s not like skipping it is actually an option. He takes a deep breath, another one, another, one more. That’s better. It’s enough. He doesn’t feel quite as trigger-happy. 

He reports for duty and tries to clear his head from Bellamy’s intrusion.

***

Once upon a time, Bellamy Blake tries to kill him and it’s all he can think about when Bellamy is anywhere near him. It’s a dizzying experience and he hates the way it makes his stomach drop and his throat close up.

The delinquents all gang up on him; they bind his hands, gag him, and string him up for execution, but it’s Bellamy who fucking kicks the crate out from under his feet. It’s Bellamy who is supposed to be his friend, but who doesn’t listen when Murphy begs him to stop and wait. Murphy swears to him that he did not murder Wells Jaha, but it isn’t enough. He should have died that day. 

The betrayal is almost worse than being hung. Almost.

Murphy is no stranger to getting hit and he isn't afraid to hit back, but he's not a fighter. He doesn't have any skills or any training, he just doesn't give up. He lets people hit him and he gets in whatever shots he can. It doesn't matter to him if his knuckles are bruised or his lip is split; he’s used to it. So, instead of defending himself, he lashes out like a feral animal; relentless and brutal, with a bloody smile and no remorse, but only because he has nothing to lose and no one to live for.

Then Bellamy beats him and nothing in his whole life has ever hurt like that did. Not because he’s getting hit, but because Bellamy is the one doing it. Bellamy who recruits him, who needs him, who tries to kill him. They had come so far and fallen so hard; he doesn’t actually understand what happens between them at all, but it breaks him.

***

The tips of Bellamy’s fingers just barely graze Murphy’s neck and he’s pushing back his chair too fast and crashing to the ground before he knows what’s happening. He looks up from his position on the floor to see his own personal demon standing over him. “Fuck, Bellamy. I thought I told you not to touch me.”

“You fell asleep on duty, Murphy,” Bellamy says calmly, his voice even, but stern. He reaches an arm out to offer Murphy a hand up, but the younger boy scrambles away from him, dropping his gun on the floor in his rush to get away.

“Just leave me alone, okay?” Murphy’s jaw is tight and he’s anxious to be released from duty. He pulls himself up onto his feet, posture sloppy. 

“Whatever. I’ll take over from here,” Bellamy tells him and Murphy stomps out of the guard tower without another word to him.

Murphy burns with an all-consuming anger that can’t be controlled. This isn't the person that he is, but it is who he becomes. He makes himself into someone hard, someone who can't be hurt because he thinks it's easier. It's not. 

His existence is a collection of nothing but negative quirks: rage, pain, envy, hate, regret. There’s nothing like hope inside of him and it manifests as someone broken, but forged in steel. It’s been this way for so long that it's hard for him to be anything else— ever since his Dad is executed; his Mom slaps his face and blames him for his father's death because he is sick, because his dad wanted him to get better and stole for him. It’s his fault and it isn't fair, but he still feels like he really deserves it.

Her hand burns like fire against his skin and he can still remember exactly what it feels like.

Back in his room, he lays down in the bottom bunk and tries to sleep, but Bellamy Blake has brought up old memories that left him shaking. He needs to relax. He counts in his head…1…2…3…4…5. That’s dumb and not helping. He squeezes his fist and tries to ground himself. He takes one deep breath and then another and another and one more.

It’s okay. He’s okay.

***

Murphy is in the skybox for years. He sets fire to the officer's quarters that arrested his father. He gets caught, but it’s worth it. It’s not like he has anything better to live for anymore. His parents are dead. He’s young, but he’s scrappy. He has to be. You don't survive the skybox at that age if you don't... let's just say he isn't well-liked, but that’s okay. He doesn't need friends; not in space prison and he’ll be dead soon anyway. They’ll kill him when he turns eighteen.  

He remembers the day when everything changes and he finds out he has a chance to survive, to live. It's exhilarating.  

The drop to Earth is intense, his stomach dropping and his head spinning, but he can't remember ever feeling like this. He’s actually happy. Earth is new. It’s fresh and vibrant and everything that his life on the Ark is not, but Murphy is already damaged because he does not know how to live.

He isn’t smart, at least he’s not book smart, but he is observant and he knows people. He knows they have their own agendas and they look out for themselves, for their families and friends; but Murphy doesn’t have any friends and his family is dead; he just has himself to take care of and that's what he does. John Murphy only looks out for John Murphy; the rest of the world be damned. That's when he starts getting himself in trouble. 

He tells his Earth Skills teacher,"I'll survive" but he doesn't expect anything that happens to him, but to be fair none of the delinquents do. He comes so close to death, bleeds more than he thinks possible— he’s tortured and betrayed and broken, but he survives. He’s alive.

***

John Murphy lives, but he can’t be touched. He's exhausted, but he's angry and he's restless. He closes his eyes, he breathes, and eventually falls into a fitful sleep.

Bellamy better not come near him tomorrow.


	2. Contravene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> con·tra·vene  
> (v.) 1. to come or be in conflict with; go or act against; deny or oppose.  
> 2\. to violate, infringe, or transgress.

Murphy wakes up feeling like shit, but to be honest that's not unusual. Bellamy fucked him up yesterday and he hates that the older man has such power over him without even trying.

Murphy wants to be his right hand man and rise through the ranks, but he can't even do that right. It all goes so wrong so fast.

He's the monster now, the bad guy, but they aren't so innocent either and yet, he's the only one that gets treated like a pariah.

He isn’t going to think about that right now.

He tries to shake off the excess tension in his bones, but that isn't how that works, so he sighs and gets dressed. He goes to the mess hall and almost turns around to leave again. Of course, Bellamy is there.

There's no escape from the curly-haired, freckle-face demon. He groans internally, his eyes cutting to the linoleum floor as he pointedly ignores the older man. He gets his rations and goes to the furthest corner table to eat alone, pulling out a chair and slumping down into it. He stares at his food until his eyes go blurry. When he blinks and looks up, Bellamy is in his space looking at Murphy like he's seeing something odd or alien. 

"I'm not on the guard duty schedule today. What the hell do you want?" Murphy practically spits, picking at the skin of his apple to avoid looking at Bellamy longer than he has to.

"You're acting weird," Bellamy points out, his hands pressing against the table as he leans forward and invades Murphy's personal space. 

"And?" Murphy replies, pushing his seat back and making to get up and leave, his rations untouched.

"When the hell did you get so sensitive, Murphy?" Bellamy asks him, coming around the table to stand in front of him, blocking his exit. 

"What are you talking about? I'm fine, Bellamy." Murphy can't get around him without pushing him or brushing past him. It makes him sick and his stomach turns. He crosses his arms across his chest and takes a step back, putting as much space between them as possible. He stares Bellamy down. "Get out of my way," Murphy tells him, voice cracking slightly.

Bellamy raises an eyebrow and quirks his mouth.He doesn't move. "You're not fine from where I'm standing."

He reaches out and grips Murphy's upper arm. The younger boy immediately stiffens, his heart racing, and he swallows the bile rising in his throat. He can't shake off Bellamy's hand. The darker-haired man is holding on too tight.

"Since when do you care,"he says breathing hard through his nose. "Let! Me! Go!" Murphy screams at him.

All of sudden he's laying on the ground, getting his face bashed in with Bellamy above him throwing repeated punches. He knows it's a memory, but it feels like it's happening all over again. He's living it in this moment and he can't escape how it feels. It doesn't actually last that long, maybe a minute, but it feels like an eternity and it floods all of his senses until Bellamy's voice is calling him back to reality. 

"Can you just calm down?" Bellamy is asking him, dropping the hand from his shoulder and backing up a few steps. Murphy shakes his head trying to focus and clear his mind of the memory.

"I'd be perfectly calm if you kept your hands off me," Murphy huffs as he makes his way past Bellamy. "I have to go."

He's walking away, but he doesn't have a destination in mind. He just needs to be as far from Bellamy as he can get. He has to catch his breath.

In and out. In and out.

Too fast, slow down.

In… Out… In… Out.

Murphy has to vomit. He can feel it again rising in the back of his throat. Shit. Shit. Shit. His hands are shaking. He has to calm the fuck down.

Why does Bellamy have this kind of power over him?

He hates Bellamy Blake; the older man with the tanned golden skin and muscled arms who ruins his goddamn life by his very existence. Bellamy is a leader, people listen to him and Murphy is envious. He's jealous because Bellamy has a place among his people and Murphy is an outcast, worse than that even because Murphy is shunned by the outcasts too. He wants so badly to find a place by Bellamy’s side, to be respected as Bellamy’s second, but that never happens because he can’t do anything right.

And Bellamy hates him now too. He destroys everything between them in less than a second. He doesn’t even spare a thought that maybe Murphy is telling the truth. Murphy just wants Bellamy to believe him, to trust him.

Part of him still wants that if he was being honest, but he can’t have that. He can’t even be near Bellamy without… 

He stops walking then and stares up at the sun, not remembering when he came outside. A realization strikes him—white hot like lightning, but it chills him to the bone.

John Murphy is in love with Bellamy Blake.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it! Comments, Questions, Kudos, Cookies, Whatever the hell you want. Let me know!!
> 
> Find me on tumblr: murphysurvived


	3. Paroxysm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> par·ox·ysm  
> (n.) any sudden, violent outburst; a fit of violent action or emotion

The sun is bright, too bright, and Murphy's skin burns where Bellamy touched him. He digs his fingernails into it, clawing at the red hot flesh. His blood boils to the surface and he tightens his jaw, scratching at it harder.

He can't imagine how it's possible that he's in love with Bellamy, but he is.

Murphy feels dirty. He has to get back inside and shower; maybe he'd feel better. He's drenched in a thin layer of cold sweat and his skin tingles under his touch like he's vibrating out of it. Right now, he can barely breathe. His chest aches, his pulse is still racing in his veins making him feel skittish and jumpy.

Bellamy Blake. He's in love with Bellamy Blake. The man who tried to kill him, who beat him mercilessly and makes him feel so terribly insignificant, so worthless, so like a monster. And maybe he is, maybe Bellamy is right, but how can he love someone like that? It doesn't make sense.

Plenty of people think Murphy is nothing special, who hate him for any number of completely valid reasons. He isn't well-liked and that had always been fine, more than fine. Murphy brushes off people's nasty comments without a moment's thought, but Bellamy is different; something in him has to please the older man and something else in him always fails to do so. 

Someone is talking to him, but he can't hear them. He waves them away without thinking and stalks back inside, making a beeline for the communal shower station. Thank god, it's empty. He doesn't want anyone to see him.

He strips off his shirt and his muscles ache with knotted discomfort. His skin is painted with pale scars, most of which were inflicted by people who were not Bellamy Blake—which means they don't matter. They don't hurt. Murphy is used to pain: when the grounders torture him, it hurts but it's bearable. It passes like every fight he has ever been in. So, he has scars, but they were just that: scars... stains on his skin. They don't affect him like Bellamy's touch and his betrayal because Bellamy is the reason he gets banished, the reason he has those scars. 

Ever since the hanging, they have been in constant collision. He hangs Bellamy in revenge, wants him to die, wants him to know exactly what he felt, but Bellamy never would understand exactly how impossible his actions were. Murphy could never betray Bellamy, it isn't how he's wired—he's loyal to his own fault and it always seems to come up as his fault.

He doesn't quite know when it goes so wrong, when his trigger becomes Bellamy, but it's after Ontari puts a collar on him and reminds him of who he is, what he comes from. It's after Emori disappears and comes back and disappears again. It's when he's left with nothing but himself and the memory of Bellamy: colliding, crashing, clashing against each other. That's when it starts: Murphy's body betraying him just like Bellamy has.  

Removing the rest of his clothing, he turns the water on as hot as it goes, so it scalds his delicate skin. He lets the water drown him, standing under it even though his body screams in protest. It itches and it burns and it crawls, but he wants to flay himself, so that it's like he's never been touched.

This is so impossible. It isn't right. He isn't right. Something is absolutely and terribly wrong with him if he has feelings for Bellamy, but he knows that he does. It's as rooted in him as his need to survive; the need to please Bellamy, to be validated by him, to feel desire towards him. He's sick with it.

Murphy rubs his skin raw with his fingers. His breathing gets heavier and he feels himself growing more upset than he already is. He swallows the ball of anger and grief that's building up in his throat. The tears are salty and burning his eyes as they spill down his face. He curls in on himself, crumpling to the thin mat that was the shower floor.

He holds his head in his hands and holds his breath, counting the seconds as the water still pounds on his back angrily. 1…2…3…4…5…Fuck. He breathes, hiccoughing. He presses his palms against his eyes. Stop. Stop. Stop crying. Fuck.

Every single muscle pinches tight with tension. His stomach rolls and he vomits bile on the floor. What the fuck is happening to him?

He screams, voice broken and choked and cracking. It sounds like he's dying. His body shakes as he curls into a fetal position. 

***

Bellamy comes running when he hears the scream. He's yelling as he enters shower station, trying to find the source of the panic. "Murphy! Murphy!" He bellows out the younger boy's name when he sees him. 

Murphy can't focus on Bellamy's voice. He closes his eyes and tries to keep breathing. His chest heaves with the effort of trying to stop crying. His heart pounds in his ears.

Bellamy turns off the water.

He touches Murphy's back and the boy shudders violently, but doesn't speak. He's so dizzy and his head hurts. 

Bellamy puts a blanket around him and picks him up. Murphy is too far gone to fight back or freak out. He just shivers and tries to concentrate on his breathing. Too much is happening in his brain for him to be able to focus or to care. His nerves are frayed and his energy is all but drained.  

Murphy blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. Let me know. Kudos, Comments, Cookies, emotional breakdowns, whatever the hell you want. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr: murphysurvived


	4. Obsecrate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ob·se·crate  
> (v.) to entreat solemnly; beseech; supplicate.

Murphy sleeps for 12 hours; dark, dreamless sleep.

When he wakes up, it's quiet. He mentally assesses himself with his eyes still closed: the usual aches and pains in his joints, normal heart rate, breathing steady. His skin feels raw and shiny like he has shed the old dead layer. His mouth is dry and tastes of old vomit; he needs a drink of water.

He doesn't even move before he realizes that he isn't alone. Bellamy is folded into a chair on the other side of the small room, watching him. It doesn't look like he's slept at all. 

"You're awake," he half-smiles at Murphy, who is already feeling the uncomfortable tension in his shoulders. He wants Bellamy to leave.

"Go away, Bellamy," He tells the dark-haired man, his voice hard. He pulls the blanket tighter around him and waits. Nothing happens.

"Please, leave," Murphy tries again. This time he gets out of the bed to open the door, his bones cracking as he sits up. He stands holding the door wide open so that the other man can kindly get the fuck out.    

Bellamy ignores his comments and crosses his arms across his chest. He makes no sign of getting up to leave. "How are you feeling?" He asks instead. 

"Better... until I saw you were here," Murphy says, his mouth a hard line. He's squeezing the door handle in his fist. ”Get out!" He screams at Bellamy again.

Bellamy sighs, his jaw set for a fight. "We have to talk about this, Murphy."

Murphy won’t look at Bellamy. He stares at the floor, dropping his hand from the door and his shoulders falling because Bellamy isn’t listening to him. He has nothing to say to the curly-haired man. ”We don't have to do anything. Just leave me alone, okay?"

Murphy is desperate. His chest is starting to ache from stress. This would be so much easier if Bellamy would just pretend he doesn’t exist. Instead, he's here in Murphy’s room refusing to leave and Murphy is five minutes away from another panic attack.

"No. Not until you tell me what's wrong with you?" Bellamy won’t stop watching Murphy’s movements and it makes his skin itch. He scratches at his forearm absently.

"I'm not talking to you." Murphy crosses the room to get as far away as he can from Bellamy. He wraps his arms around himself and presses into the corner. 

"Murphy, I can't help you if you don't tell me what happened?" Bellamy stands and makes his way toward Murphy, who needs to move before he's cornered again. His breath catches in his throat.

"I don't want your help." He shakes his head. Murphy is a spring coil at peak tension and he launches out of the corner, arms flailing. Bellamy is so taken aback that he moves back a step and Murphy slips past him, the open door behind him as he turns to face Bellamy again, but doesn’t meet his eyes.

"Yeah, okay, fine,” Bellamy tries to be agreeable with Murphy. “but you might _need_ it,” he counters. 

"Fuck you, Blake,” Murphy hisses. He's starting to shake.

"Excuse me?" Bellamy levels his gaze at Murphy.

"This has nothing to do with you.” That's a lie. This has everything to do with Bellamy, but Murphy can’t admit that and he won’t admit it. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bellamy asks him.

"It means you should leave me alone." He shifts to the side giving Bellamy the space to leave the room.

"I'm worried about you. That was pretty bad out there,” The freckle-face man tells him honestly.

"I'm fine. Go bother someone who cares." Murphy says, shrugging off Bellamy’s concern.

"You're not fine. I'm here because I care. Tell me what I did to you, Murphy." Bellamy tries to step closer to Murphy again and this time Murphy stares straight in his face.

"You know what you did to me,” He says, voice hard. 

"What are you talking about?" Bellamy tilts his head slightly, watching Murphy’s face.

"Nothing. You've never done a damn thing to me, right?" Murphy is angry and upset and his breathing is starting to get erratic.

"I already apologized for that,” Bellamy says quietly.

"Not good enough, Bell,” Murphy shakes his head. “That's not going to fix me."He swallows the lump that's forming in the base of his throat.

"What do you mean?" Bellamy stares at him.

"You _hurt_ me,” his voice cracks. “You betrayed me. You fucking ruined me and now I can't even look at you without…”Murphy doesn’t have an ending for that sentence. He tries again, “just get the fuck out of here, please." There are tears in his eyes.

"Without what?" Bellamy asks him and Murphy’s head is a mess of answers he can’t explain: without losing control of his body, without feeling sick, without crying. "Murphy?"

Bellamy is still watching him carefully, his face softening as Murphy feels the tears that had been in his eyes spill down his cheeks.

"Please,” he whispers again and Bellamy nods. He turns and walks out of the room without another word because that’s what Murphy needs right now.

Murphy wipes the tears off his face with the back of his hand. He isn’t okay and it's Bellamy’s fault.

Fuck him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always: comments, kudos, cookies, whatever the hell you want always appreciated. 
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr: murphysurvived


	5. Penitence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pen·i·tence  
> (n.) the action of feeling or showing sorrow and regret for having done wrong; repentance.

Bellamy doesn’t ever think about Murphy.

He has wars to fight and his people to worry about. It's not that Murphy isn't Skai Kru, because he is, but he doesn't belong and he never has. He's always the wild card waiting on the fringe and Bellamy is never quite sure if he's with them or against them. So, he let's Murphy do as he pleases and he doesn't think about him.

He thinks about Murphy now.

Murphy can take care of himself; he's been doing it for what seems like forever. He doesn't need Bellamy, not like the other delinquents, at least that's what Bellamy used to think before...

He's in shock. He finds Murphy on the floor of the shower, shaking and sobbing, broken in a way that he has never expected of the younger man. His skin is red and warm to the touch, all the blood having risen to surface. _What did you do, Murphy?_

He's fine, Murphy is always fine, but that doesn't explain why?

Murphy has always been infrangible; a mythic and stoic creature that defies the realities of human nature. He's impossible and exists ad infinitum when he absolutely should not.

Bellamy wraps him in a blanket and carries the barely conscious Murphy back to his room. The boy weighs almost nothing and Bellamy can see the outline of bones and muscles under his reddened skin. He doesn't expect this because Murphy always seems so strong, not physically, but his strength of spirit. He's relentless, brutal, infinite—he can take anything, but now he's in pieces and Bellamy doesn't understand what happened.

It's true that Bellamy tried to kill him, true that he beat him, but he never thought it would mean anything to someone like Murphy, who let's misery and tragedy roll off him like it's nothing. Why is this so different? What has he done to Murphy that makes him so damaged, so fractured?

Betrayal; Bellamy knows what he did. He always knew that he hurt Murphy, but he never expected it to have these consequences. Murphy was a god, Icarus, flying too close to the sun and Bellamy burned his wings, without thinking. He ripped Murphy apart until there wasn’t anything good left in him. He made Murphy into a monster.

But now, it seems Murphy is human and vulnerable. He's broken; Bellamy broke him and Bellamy can put him back together. If he does nothing else good, he can help Murphy because after all he's done to him, Murphy deserves that…he deserves to be whole, to be touched. It would be enough.

Bellamy can’t stop the end of the world, he can’t prevent a war with the grounders, but he can maybe fix Murphy because he needs it, and Murphy needs it. More than that, he wants it.

He wants Murphy; the boy that's half-human and half-immortal, with eyes like the ocean on fire and a smile like broken glass.

He misses that Murphy; he wants to kiss him and bleed. He wants to look at him and burn. 

***

He makes his way back to Murphy’s room and stood solemn in the frame of the door, looking at the boy with the messy hair and the broken body. Murphy had stopped crying by now. 

“Let me fix you, Murphy,” Bellamy says to him and he just frowns.

“You can’t fix me, Bell,” he replies, his voice quiet as he shakes his head.

“Let me try, please?” He says again, struggling to keep an even tone. 

“Walk away from this,” Murphy’s voice cracks. "Pretend I don't exist."

He doesn’t look at Bellamy. The tears are pressing on his eyelids again.

“I can’t,” Bellamy admits. "I don't want to." 

Murphy nods. He wants this too, but he's scared. “Okay,” he agrees. 

“We’ll make this work,” Bellamy promises.

“Yeah,” Murphy says, swallowing his tears. He doesn’t really believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is enjoying. Let me know what you think... questions, comments, concerns, kudos, cookies, whatever the hell you want! 
> 
> talk to me on tumblr: murphysurvived


	6. Metanoia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> met·a·noi·a  
> (n.) change in one's way of life resulting from penitence or spiritual conversion.

Bellamy walks into Murphy's room and sits at the far edge of his bunk, giving him space. The smaller boy is curled into the corner, opposite of him and hadn’t said anything yet. His eyes are focused on a loose thread in the blanket and his fingers pick idly at it.

"Is this okay?" Bellamy asks him, trying to figure out how close was too close. "I can sit at the desk if that's better."

Murphy shook his head. "It's okay. I'm okay."

“Are you lying?” He questions.

“No. I’m fine,” Murphy deadpans.

“I can move if that’s what you need,” he says.

“Whatever you want, Bell,” Murphy mumbles, his shoulders tensing up. Bellamy was starting to make him feel uncomfortable, even though he knew that the older man was just trying to make it right; it felt like an interrogation.

“This isn’t about me. What do you need?” He asks again, knowing there wasn't going to be an easy answer. If this was going to work, they needed to talk. Murphy had to tell him if he was doing something wrong.

Murphy shrugs, tense muscles relaxing as he inches further away. He didn't know. He hadn't done this. "I'm sorry," he apologizes, meeting Bellamy's eyes.

Bellamy's face grew concerned, eyebrows furrowing in the signature Blake look. "For what, Murphy? You have nothing to be sorry for... it was me. Not you."

"I know, Bellamy, but what if I’m not fixable?" he clarifies and Bellamy's features melt into softness. He tries to swallow the lump that has now formed in his throat.

"You are, but it’s gonna take us some time," Bellamy tries to assure him.

He wishes that he could pull Murphy into his arms and hold him tight, that he could give him physical comfort, but he knows that they haven’t gotten that far yet. At this moment, it would only make things worse. He offers Murphy a small smile, which the boy tried to return. Their eyes meet quickly before Murphy drops his gaze back down to the unraveling blanket. Several moments pass in silence.

Murphy’s eyes were back on him before he questions, "Why are you doing this, Bell?"

"Because you deserve better and I want to give you that... If I can, if you let me," Bellamy answers him.

"When did you start caring about what I deserve?" Murphy responds, voice growing defensive.

"Since now," Bellamy admits with an edge to his voice. "I got it wrong before. I got so many things wrong, and this is something I can try to make right again."

This makes Murphy angry. He’s not someone to pity. He’s not a way for Bellamy to atone for his sins. “I’m not here so you can feel better about yourself.”

Bellamy cringes. “I know. That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” He asks.

Bellamy thinks for a long time. He wants to tell Murphy that he wishes they could be one, that he wants to be inside of him, but he’s not ready to admit that yet. “I want you to feel whole again because I want to touch you… because I have feelings for you.”

“Me too,” Murphy admits, voice quieter than it was before. He wants Bellamy’s hands all over him. It frightens him, but he needs it, wants it, desires it.

“Then we’ll make it work,” Bellamy promises.

Murphy didn't say anything for a while after that, he just lowers his eyes back down to the blanket as hes to push back further into the corner. He's flush against it with his limbs pulled tightly against him, looking as small as he can.

Bellamy’s eyes scan over his body, taking note of how sickly he looks even when he’s awake.

He doesn't want Murphy to be uncomfortable, but he has to know, to understand: "What's it like, Murphy? What does it feel like?"

Murphy looks at him again. "It hurts, Bell. When you touch me, it hurts so much. I feel sick and I can’t move and I relive it over and over and over." His voice starts to waver as he rushes to speak before he can't explain himself.

Bellamy swallows against the stubborn lump. It’s awful, but it's his fault and now Murphy is suffering.

"What if you touch me?" He asks, wondering aloud.

"I don't know. I don't want to find out," Murphy says, but it doesn't sound like he really means it.

Bellamy nods, but he holds out his hand anyways, resting it on the comforter between them, in case Murphy changes his mind. This was Murphy's decision and it was up to him to set the limits of their relationship.

Silence sits between them as pale blues stare at his hand, the light reflecting off the unshed tears in his eyes that always seem to be there.

Murphy has to count in his head as he struggles to find the courage.

1...2...3...4...5

He takes a breath. Another one. Another. One more.

His stomach flip-flops once, twice, three times, but he's okay. It’s a pain he can tolerate. His hand inches closer to the tanned fingers, their fingertips just barely touching. He stops. Waits. Feels his heart race, thumping against the cage that is his chest. He takes a breath. Another one. One more.

He’s okay.

Bellamy doesn’t move. He lets Murphy have all of the control while he figures himself out.

Murphy drags his fingers along Bellamy's palm, the warmth from it burning against his cold skin. Their hands slide against each other; Murphy’s fingers smooth on Bellamy’s callouses. This is okay, it's doable. He finds the spaces between Bellamy’s rough fingers with his own and let's them intertwine; Murphy’s pale complexion bright against the dark tan of Bellamy’s skin.The difference between them harsh. One, thin fingers and a hand covered with bumps of white scars, against larger brown ones, spotted only with some scars and freckles.

He closes his fist, wrapping his fingers around Bellamy’s as he shuts his eyes. He keeps his breathing even and steady. When he opens his eyes again, he smiles at Bellamy who returns it, looking proud.

It’s a good first step, a beginning.

Bellamy carefully curls his fingers around Murphy's hand and they stay like that for a few more minutes, which feels like hours, before he feels the cold fingers leave his warm ones.

He leaves his hand in the middle of them before finally pulling it back, watching as the pale one is tucked away into a pocket, out of sight. "Was it too much?" He asks, nervously, trying to gauge Murphy’s state of mind.

The younger boy shook his head. "No. I was just... what is this? I mean... what are we doing?" His head tilts like a dog with the question.

"That's really up to you, Murphy. What do you want?" Bellamy tells him.

Murphy shrugs. He isn't really good with words and he's even worse with feelings. He tucks his chin against his chest, staring down to the blanket again.

"It's okay not to know. It doesn't have to be anything until you're ready," Bellamy explains, trying to sound like it doesn’t matter and he doesn’t want this to be real if that's not what Murphy wants.

"It's something, Bell. We both know it is. It's you and me. I just… I don't want it to hurt anymore," Murphy admits, voice cracking towards the end.

"I don't want to hurt you," Bellamy says to him, but he knows full well that it doesn’t really mean anything and so does Murphy.

"I know," Murphy says, his voice barely above a whisper. "But that doesn't mean you won't."

"I’ll never hurt you on purpose," He assures, eyes softening as he stares at the young boy, guilt rushing through him. “This is going to be a process and sometimes it’ll hurt.“

Murphy chews on his bottom lip, teeth tugging at delicate skin. He knows it’s going to hurt, and he is used to the pain, but he doesn’t want to always associate Bellamy with the bad things in his life. It isn’t fair, not when he's here and trying to fix his mistakes.

"You're strong, Murph, and you're not alone. You've survived for this long. We can get through this," He promises him and Murphy pushes all the dark thoughts from his mind. They weren’t worth thinking about now.

"That’s dramatic. It's not like I'm gonna die, Blake," Murphy's classic sarcasm bleeds into his voice and Bellamy laughs. That's the Murphy he misses most. "I can handle holding that meathook of yours just fine." 

"Didn't think so," Bellamy says, a goofy smile forming on his face. Murphy smiles back at him. "What's a meathook? It sounds like a euphemism for my dick."

"You wish, Bell. Obviously, it's your hand. Get your mind out of the gutter." Murphy rolls his eyes and pokes his tongue out at Bellamy.

"Right, cause Mr. Pound Town is so good and pure," Bellamy replies smoothly as Murphy just smirks at him.   

  
This is good. It's okay and maybe they can do this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and endless thanks to @tentaclehub for all the editing help and rewriting (we will probably be editing the last 5 chapters too). 
> 
> I love your kudos, comments, concerns, questions, cookies... WHATEVER THE HELL YOU WANT! 
> 
> Talk to me on tumblr, i like new friends (seriously i'm lonely): murphysurvived


	7. Cacoethes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cac·o·e·thes  
> (n.) an irresistible urge to do something inadvisable.

They don’t tell anyone about it or about them. It’s nobody’s business. Bellamy starts spending all his spare time with Murphy;  sitting together on the floor of his room and being together, rebuilding trust, learning to be comfortable. He’s happiest when he’s with Murphy because as hard as it is, it feels like something good, something worthwhile and he doesn’t want to let it go.

They develop a routine, a system: Bellamy never initiates any kind of touching, he always let’s Murphy explore on his own. Sometimes, the younger boy will stay curled up in a corner, never coming any closer to Bellamy. Those are bad days, when his anxiety is too high and being together hurts too much. Other days, Murphy will sit cross-legged across from him, their knees touching slightly. Those are better days.

Murphy enjoys holding Bellamy’s hand. It’s easy and safe, even if it does burn against his palm in a slightly uncomfortable way. It’s a bearable pain and he can handle it. It’s something he’s getting used to little by little.

Bellamy learns not to move when Murphy touches him anywhere even when his body aches to pull the younger boy closer to him. It takes some time, but eventually Murphy is able to let himself relax against Bellamy, his head resting on the older man’s shoulder. Murphy’s breathing is steady, he’s calm and in control.

Bellamy doesn’t move, even though his fingers are itching to wrap an arm around Murphy’s shoulders or his waist. He longs to bury his nose in Murphy’s hair and press kisses to the top of his head, but he can’t and he won’t. He doesn’t want to ruin them, not when it seems like things are going to so well. He knows it’s going to take time, that it’s a process, but he wishes it was a faster process.

They stay like that for a long time, not talking, just sitting against each other and existing. Murphy takes Bellamy’s hand and traces the lines on his palm.

“Murph?”

“Hmm…” He makes a small noise in response.

“Do you think about kissing me?” Bellamy asks into the silence of the room. He wants to know if it’s just him that feels so desperate to move forward, or if Murphy is just as impatient, just as selfishly horny.

Murphy’s hand stills, just barely touching Bellamy’s. He meets the older man’s dark eyes and his mouth goes dry. He nods slightly. Of course, he thinks about kissing Bellamy. He thinks about a lot more than kissing him too.

“I don’t think i’m ready,” he says honestly.

Bellamy gives a firm nod. “That’s okay. I understand.”

Murphy’s heart speeds up and he breathes again, waiting for it to settle. “I want to though,” he admits. “…I want to kiss you.”

Bellamy gives him a tight smile. “When you’re ready,” he assures Murphy, who quirks his lips slightly at the gesture.

He intertwines his fingers with Bellamy’s and squeezes his hand lightly. “I hope it’s soon.”

“Me too.”

***

About a week later, Murphy’s exploring again: he’s got his hands burrowed beneath Bellamy’s t-shirt and the curly-haired man is finding it hard to keep himself still. Everything is going so well; Murphy seems like he’s fine. His cold hands are dancing over the warm expanse of Bellamy’s stomach and chest. His breath catches in his throat. 

His brain short-circuits and he doesn’t realize it’s happening until he’s got a hand cupped around Murphy’s face and neck, thumb brushing his cheek when everything stops.

The younger boy freezes for what seems like an eternity, even though it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. All of a sudden, he’s pulling back quickly and scooting himself away from Bellamy and wrapping his arms around his knees trying to hold himself together as his breathing gets shallower.

He closes his eyes and counts in his head. 1…2…3…4…5.His ears are ringing, his heart is hammering loudly in his chest, and it feels like every single one of his muscles has contracted. His nerves are pinched tight and he’s on the verge of falling to pieces. 

Bellamy is staring at him wide-eyed. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s ruined it. He’s ruined everything and Murphy is never going to speak to him again, he’s never going to touch him again.

Bellamy chews his bottom lip. “Murph?” He asks, fear coloring his voice.

Murphy shakes his head. He can’t concentrate on Bellamy’s voice. He can’t speak.

_Shit._ He hurt Murphy and he didn’t mean to. He didn’t want to. He wasn’t thinking.

Burying his face in his hands, he starts to cry. He didn’t know what he had been thinking before because he can’t save Murphy. He’s the reason Murphy is broken and his hands can only keep destroying him piece by piece until there’s nothing left.

It takes awhile, but Murphy eventually calms down. His muscles unknot and his heart slows and he can breathe. He sees Bellamy hasn’t moved at all, but his face falls at the sight of him.

“Bell?” He whispers softly, making his way back over to him. “Bellamy.”

He’s frowning as he tentatively moves closer, reaching out to touch the freckled face in front of him. Bellamy winces slightly, embarrassed. “You don’t have to touch me,” he tells Murphy, voice thick from crying.

“Shhh... It’s okay, Bell,” he says meeting Bellamy’s eyes and swiping his thumb across Bellamy’s cheek, wiping away the tears. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

“I hurt you,” Bellamy looks away and stares at the floor, pulling away from Murphy. 

Murphy shakes his head, “No… i mean yes, but it wasn’t your fault. I pushed you too far.”

“I should have controlled myself. I knew better.” he spoke almost to himself, admonishing his actions.

“It’s okay,” Murphy tries again. He has the urge to touch him, comfort him, but Bellamy’s too on edge. Murphy can see the tension in the line of jaw and the stiffness of his shoulders. 

“It’s not,” Bellamy shakes his head. “I could have ruined everything.”

“You didn’t,” Murphy promises. He reaches for Bellamy’s hand and Bellamy let’s him slip his fingers in the spaces between his own. “We’re okay.”

“Okay,” Bellamy concedes, but he still feels awful even with Murphy’s hand in his, but it makes him feel calmer. 

“That wasn’t very convincing, Bell,” Murphy pulls out his sarcastic charm, giving Bellamy a cheeky smirk.

Bellamy smiles in spite of himself and Murphy leans close to his ear, “Don’t move,” he instructs before letting go of Bellamy’s hand and wrapping both arms around him. His stomach turns, but he holds Bellamy tight, resting his chin on the older man’s shoulder. 

Bellamy closes his eyes and doesn’t move a muscle, just melts into Murphy’s embrace. All of the tension in his joints dissipating. As cold as Murphy’s hands are, Bellamy only feels warmth spreading in the pit of his stomach.

“Thanks,” he breathes. His heart swells and he can’t help the fresh tears that slide down his cheeks.

Murphy pulls back after several minutes to look at him and frowns at the tears still staining Bellamy’s cheeks. “You okay?”

Bellamy smiles at him, wiping the tears off his face with the back of his hand. “I’m fine,” he promises.

“Crybaby,” Murphy teases and wrinkles his nose.

“Rude,” Bellamy sticks out his tongue and they both chuckle.

When it gets quiet again, Bellamy meets Murphy’s blue eyes with his brown ones. “I got scared,” he admits. “I was scared of losing you. I don’t ever want you to feel like this is too much or too hard. I worry that it is—because of me and what I did to you.”

Murphy presses his lips together. He knows the fear well. He’s always waiting for Bellamy to walk away from this. He knows it can’t be easy for him to put up with all of Murphy’s idiosyncrasies, with his trauma. He worries that if Bellamy can’t touch him, that they won’t be able to make this work.

He shakes his head, “You won’t lose me,” He assures Bellamy and then almost as an afterthought, “I love you.”

The words slip out easily enough, but his heart stops for a moment. It’s the truth, but he doesn’t he doesn’t breathe until he hears Bellamy reply.

“I love you too,” Bellamy tells him. His heart is racing. It’s too much and it’s enough. Murphy takes his hand once more.

Bellamy Blake will never hurt John Murphy again. He swears it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, Kudos, Cookies, Whatever the hell you want -- much appreciated. Let me know!
> 
> Find me on tumblr: murphysurvived (i love to talk to people, like a lot)


	8. Osculation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> os·cu·la·tion  
> (n.) the act of kissing.

_“Do you think about kissing me?”_

Since Bellamy asked him almost a month ago, Murphy couldn’t stop thinking about kissing him. He could barely make sense of all his feelings and the thoughts bouncing around in his his head; he wondered idly if normal people (i.e.: people who weren’t afflicted by trauma and who weren’t currently dating their triggers) got this nervous about a first kiss.

It isn’t really his _first_ kiss, but it’s his first with Bellamy and he wants it to be…well, special. Also, electric and passionate and nice. He wants it to feel good and right and not hurt. Oh god, he doesn’t want it to hurt… 

When he kisses Emori, it’s always gentle. It’s always soft and warm, tasting of vanilla and honey, sweet on his lips and tongue. He smiles remembering it and her. She’s his light and he misses her, but they’ve both moved on.

He never kisses Ontari, not on the mouth anyway. It’s never pleasant. It always makes him feel sick. He hates it and he hates her. Sure, she’s pretty to look at, but he isn’t himself with her. He doesn’t have a choice and he prefers not to think about her. 

Bellamy’s different. The thing about kissing Bellamy is that he’s actually scared; he’s scared of how badly he wants to have that kind of physical contact with him and he’s scared of what it will do to him, but he can’t think about that too much. No amount of pain is worth never kissing the man he loves.

The only way to move forward, to get past this, is to go through it: to feel it.

***

This is something they both need. It’s something they both want, desperately.Murphy knows how upset Bellamy still is about what happened even though he doesn’t say anything. They don’t talk about it, but Murphy sees it in his eyes. He’s putting so much effort and restraint into holding himself back because of Murphy and honestly, that hurts Murphy in a completely different way. It hurts his heart that he’s so damaged, that it’s putting up walls between him and Bellamy. He needs to try harder to break them down and this is how he can start.

He swallows his fear and he squeezes Bellamy’s hand. “Bell, I’m ready…” He says with determination and conviction, looking over at his boyfriend; the ghost of fear is still apparent in his features, but he’s pushing past it.

“Hmm…” Bellamy meets his eyes, tilting his head with a question.

“I’m ready to kiss you,” Murphy explains, butterflies waging war in his gut. He shakes his head a little, trying to rid himself of any tension. “Don’t move. Close your eyes. Please, don’t move.”

***

Bellamy is so surprised that he can’t speak, nodding imperceptibly to Murphy, who shifts his body around to face him. As always, they’re both sprawled out on the floor in Murphy’s room and now Murphy’s on his knees, sitting on the balls of his feet, and working up the courage to kiss him. He becomes a stone statue, barely vibrating with the excitement of the moment.

He blinks his eyes shut and the silence in the room is almost deafening. His lips are just barely parted and he can feel the ghost of Murphy all around him, not touching him, not yet. Murphy’s fingertips are careful, featherlight as they nervously attempt to touch his face. Bellamy is patient, but his heart hammers anxiously in his chest. The anticipation is killing him.

***

Murphy’s hands are shaking and he licks his lips nervously, as he watches Bellamy become still, as unmoving as a statue of a stoic and ancient god. He traces Bellamy’s lips with his fingers, brushes them lightly across his cheeks and his chin. He needs to calm down, but that feels impossible.

He counts in his head to try and calm himself. 

1...2...3...4...5...

He finally rests his hands on Bellamy’s face, gently curling around the back of his neck. He’s as ready as he’ll ever be. His thumb twitches gently against Bellamy’s skin as he steadies himself, studying the rough beautiful features of his boyfriends face. He’s so painfully in love and he breathes once, twice, three times, trying desperately to quiet his racing heart as he leans forward slowly, closing his eyes as his lips make the lightest contact.

His heart stops.

***

The moment Murphy’s lips touch his, the spark goes straight through every part of him and he’s alive with it. It takes everything inside of him not to grab Murphy and start kissing him back hungrily, but he can’t help the small twitch of a smile across his face. It’s so warm and he’s so happy that it radiates off of him, refusing to be contained.

He feels time stop around them, grounding him with Murphy until they're all that's left. No kiss, no person has ever made him feel like this before: so impossibly alive and immortal, so timeless and free, but so fragile and shattered. 

***

Everything inside of Murphy slows and calms and comes to a screeching halt. He presses his mouth to Bellamy’s lips with a little more hunger, nudging the older man’s cheek with his nose. It’s like fire, turning him to ash from the inside out, but it doesn’t hurt. It just burns. He feels the pain, but it doesn’t bother him because it’s being overridden by a different kind of hurt, a different kind of pain. Desire, lust, love. Heat pools in his stomach, spreading throughout his whole being until he melts from the warmth of it. 

He's reformed, changed, different; still broken, damaged, and untamed, but he's more alive than he's ever been. He knows he's safe and that's a better feeling than he's had for a long time. 

When he pulls back and opens his eyes, Bellamy’s smiling at him. He smiles back, breathless. He let’s his hands fall from Bellamy’s face, but immediately intertwines their fingers, holding tight to his boyfriend’s hand. 

This time when he can’t breathe, it’s okay. He’s okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hit me up. Talk to me.
> 
> Comments, Kudos, Questions, Cookies, WHATEVER THE HELL YOU WANT! -- Let me know. 
> 
> find me on tumblr: murphysurvived


	9. Conviction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> con·vic·tion  
> (n.) a firmly held belief or opinion.

Murphy gets sullen after they’ve kissed. He has a string of bad days where he won’t come near Bellamy and he’ll barely speak to him. They kiss once or twice more before Bellamy would go back to his room to sleep at night, but he can sense Murphy’s trepidation, his fear.

He doesn’t know what to say to Murphy; he’s scared of the answer: that maybe Murphy doesn’t want this, them, to be real anymore. He has to ask though, he has to know.

“Are we okay?” Bellamy asks. “Murph?”

Murphy is curled, arms wrapped around his knees in the far corner. He’s sitting on his bed with Bellamy on the floor at the opposite end of the room. He rolls his blue eyes up to meet Bellamy’s brown ones. “We’re okay,” he says quietly.

“What’s wrong?” Bellamy tries a different question. “I thought you were happy when we kissed.”

“I was… I am,” Murphy explains. He doesn’t know which words to use to explain the rest of it. “I don’t know what’s next, where we go from here. I’m scared, I guess.” 

“We can figure that out together,” Bellamy assures him. “You don’t have to shut down on me.”

“I know,” he says and smiles softly at Bellamy. “I’m sorry.” Bellamy's talking to him and it immediately feels like he's calmer, more grounded. 

“I was worried,” Bellamy admits as Murphy unfolds himself on the bed and crawls over to join his boyfriend on the floor. He takes Bellamy’s hand immediately and Bellamy feels the warmth spread in his chest. He feels better.

“I was thinking…” Murphy starts to say, but he seems nervous. Bellamy meets his gaze, waiting for him to finish as he works out what he wants. “I want you to touch me.”

Bellamy swallows the immediate fear that rises in him. “Are you sure?” He asks.

Murphy nods. “I think that’s the next step.”

“You’re ready for that?” There’s concern bleeding into Bellamy’s voice. He doesn’t want to be responsible for hurting Murphy again.

Murphy chews his bottom lip, but he looks Bellamy in the eye when he says, “I trust you.”

“Okay,” Bellamy’s heart is squeezed until it’s bloodless. He nods his head and turns to face Murphy with his whole body. “How do you want to start?”

Murphy’s still holding his hand; there’s light tremors and he feels the grip tighten around his fingers. Honestly, he can’t tell if Murphy is the one shaking or if it’s him. They’re both so nervous about this.

Murphy holds out his free hand; this time he waits for Bellamy to take it.

Bellamy stares at Murphy’s hand like it’s foreign. He inches his fingers towards Murphy, so afraid that what he’s about to do will be the end of them. He’s not ready for this to be the end. It feels like they’re still beginning. Their fingertips just barely touch and he can hear Murphy stop breathing. He pulls his hand back instantly and it’s quiet for a moment.

“Try it again, please,” Murphy says, having found his breath again. He sounds scared, but determined.

Bellamy shakes his head. “I don’t want to. I can’t hurt you, Murphy.” There’s tears in his eyes.

“Please, Bell. I can do this,” Murphy promises. “We can do this together.”

Bellamy swallows his tears and reaches for Murphy’s hand again, slowly letting their fingers meet until they are palm to palm. He makes a line to Murphy’s wrist and rubs his thumb against it gently, feeling the younger boy’s pulse speed up slightly.

Murphy shivers, but he gives Bellamy a nod to assure him that he’s okay. Bellamy let’s his fingers dance softly along Murphy’s forearm, tracing the blue veins under pale skin. This is new territory and Bellamy wants to memorize every inch of it, map the irregularities and unique structure of him. He’s beautiful and strange and imperfect, but that’s what Bellamy loves most.

“Stop,” Murphy says suddenly and Bellamy gets scared for a second that he’s done something wrong. He pulls away and waits for Murphy to tell him what he needs. “Kiss me, Bellamy. Please.”

Bellamy’s mouth goes dry because it isn’t what he was expecting, but he’s hungry for the taste of murphy’s lips against his.

He’s nodding as his shaking hands cup Murphy’s face, the clear blue eyes staring at him expectantly. Murphy’s hands come up to rest on top of Bellamy’s, calming him as he leans in to press a gentle kiss to Murphy’s lips. He stops, waits, not knowing if Murphy’s okay, but then Murphy’s kissing him back and their mouths are moving together desperately, starving for the taste of each other. It's never enough. 

“Fuck,” Bellamy mumbles against Murphy’s mouth after a minute and he smirks into the kiss.

“You know, I don’t think we’re there just yet,” he comments, pulling away to breathe.

Bellamy chuckles, his fingers brushing across Murphy’s cheeks. “I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you too.” Murphy’s emotionally exhausted and his nerves are on edge, but he’s better than he’s been for awhile. He smiles at Bellamy, his eyes tired.

Bellamy is attuned to Murphy now and he can see when Murphy needs a break, needs space for a little while. “Get some rest, Murphy. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, getting ready to leave and Murphy squeezes his hand.

“Parting, such sweet sorrow, right?” he tells his boyfriend as Bellamy let’s go of him and gets up to leave.

Right.”

Bellamy’s heart has never felt so full.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me, peoples - comments, questions, kudos, concerns, cookies (whatever the hell you want)
> 
> Find me on tumblr: murphysurvived (i'm friendly and I don't bite...much)


	10. Somnolence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> som·no·lence  
> (n.) the quality or state of being drowsy.

Murphy can’t sleep.

Before Bellamy, he spends most of his time alone. He’s too damaged to have friends, too broken to connect to another person. Emori finds a way into his heart just because she’s like him, she understands what it’s like to be broken and together they make each other whole, but she’s gone now and just another memory in his fucked up existence. 

He doesn’t have more than a couple good memories. Mostly it’s dead parents, torture, and betrayal. Until very recently, he blames it all on Bellamy Blake. Bellamy bleeds into every negative experience in his life including Ontari who takes him apart and ruins him, takes away his agency. That isn’t Bellamy’s fault, but in some distant way, Murphy can’t help but remember Bellamy beating him and banishing him. He traces it all the way back to that moment because that it seems is where it all goes so terribly wrong. 

But he doesn’t blame Bellamy anymore. He can’t because Bellamy is atoning for his sins. Bellamy is patient with him and understanding of his brokenness. It doesn’t make it any less real though, it doesn’t go away just because he falls in love with the person responsible for so much of his pain. What it does is make it more difficult.

Bellamy never stays the night with him and Murphy is always relieved. He doesn’t really know if he trusts Bellamy when he’s asleep and he doesn’t need him to know about the nightmares he has. He doesn’t want Bellamy to have to deal with more of his emotional baggage than he already does. It wouldn’t be fair and it’s better this way.

The truth is that Murphy doesn’t sleep much. If he does, it’s usually only for an hour or two. Anymore than that and he’ll wake up in a cold sweat, screaming. He’s always exhausted though and spending so much time with Bellamy, as much as he enjoys it, is draining. He’s always on edge, always hyperaware of where they’re touching, if they’re touching.

Murphy doesn’t know how to explain that he’s forgiven Bellamy, but his body hasn’t. That his body might reject Bellamy’s touch, but he doesn’t. He just keeps throwing himself into this relationship because he has to, because he’s in love.

“You didn’t sleep,” Bellamy states, standing framed in the doorway, looking at Murphy curled around himself on his bed. He always seems so much smaller and less substantial than he actually is. Murphy shakes his head, looking up at Bellamy but he doesn’t speak.

“You need to sleep,” Bellamy tells him pointedly and Murphy shrugs. He’s used to being tired like he’s used to pain. “Murphy.”

Murphy rolls his eyes. “I’ll survive.”

“Sure, but life’s about more than surviving,” Bellamy comes in the room to sit on the opposite end of Murphy’s bed.

“I’m damn good at it though,” Murphy smirks and Bellamy just makes a face at him.

Bellamy reaches for his boyfriend’s hand, keeping eye contact with him in case Murphy needs him to stop, but the younger boy lets Bellamy link their fingers together. “Are we going to talk about this? I know about the nightmares,” Bellamy admits to him.

Murphy frowns. “How?”

“After you blacked out in the shower… I didn’t leave your side.” Bellamy doesn’t look at him.

“Bell… I don’t really remember.” Murphy had slept for 12 hours that day and he couldn’t recall any nightmares, but maybe he had been so exhausted that he just blocked them out. He definitely had no idea until he woke up that Bellamy had been there. 

“You just…you seemed scared and you screamed. I didn’t want you to wake up alone,” Bellamy squeezes Murphy’s fingers. That was the day he realized he wanted to help the pale boy.

Murphy offers Bellamy a sad smile. He wouldn’t have admitted it then, but there’s a part of him that warms at the thought of Bellamy watching over him. “Thanks.”

“I wanted to wait for you to tell me, but I was getting worried,” Bellamy says, his voice lowering near the end of his sentence. 

“I’m sorry,” Murphy apologizes, “I don’t always know how to deal with this, with me, and I don’t want to be your burden. I’m damaged enough already without you having to deal with my nightmares too.” He stares down at Bellamy holding his hand, twitching his fingers slightly.

Bellamy shakes his head. He hates when Murphy gets like this, but he can’t blame him. He knows it must be difficult for him to open up, but they’ve been through so much. Sometimes he thinks he’s earned more trust. “Don’t say that. I’m here because I want to be, because i love you, and you know that.”

“Yeah, but…”

“No buts…except for that cute one you have,” Bellamy laughs at his own joke and Murphy smiles in spite of himself. “I accept every part of you, Murphy. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have stayed. Let me take care of you.”

Murphy shakes his head, his ocean eyes wide. He knows that Bellamy would do anything for him, but he doesn't want to ask, doesn't want to be someone who takes what they don't need. “I don't need to be taken care of.”

"I didn't say you needed it. I said I wanted to," Bellamy clarifies. 

"I don't know how, Bell," Murphy tells him, "I've never had anyone who wanted to before."

"You'll learn, we'll figure out out just like how you learned to let me touch you," Bellamy explains, squeezing Murphy's hand in his. "Just say okay."

"Okay," Murphy says in a quiet voice, meeting his eyes. Bellamy makes circles with his thumb against Murphy's skin. 

He nods and leans in slowly so his forehead barely touches against Murphy's, bumping nose to cheek as he presses a kiss to his jaw. Murphy feels heat spread through him and he smiles softly at Bellamy. 

“Should I go now, so you can actually try to sleep?” Bellamy asks him, breath ghosting across his face, hoping that Murphy will say no.

“Please stay,” Murphy whispers. Bellamy has always been a part of him, taking up space where he wasn’t wanted before. Now, Murphy can’t bear the thought of him ever leaving.

“Always,” Bellamy promises, crawling further up the bed so they can lay next to each other.

Murphy tugs on Bellamy’s arm and the older man wraps it around his chest, holding him, protecting him. Murphy feels safe. He’s happy and already closing his eyes. For once, he actually wants to fall asleep, so he can wake up next to Bellamy and not be alone. Bellamy presses a soft kiss to Murphy’s neck and he shivers, feeling Bellamy’s lips like fire on his skin. It’s pain and it’s pleasure, but he can handle it because he has Bellamy.

He knows they’re not perfect. He knows they’ve got a long way to go before they’re even a fraction of what normal is, but he’s okay and they’re okay. It’s enough for now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LAST CHAPTER GUYS! WE DID IT! 
> 
> Talk to me: comments, kudos, questions, concerns, whatever the hell you want! 
> 
> Find me on tumblr: murphysurvived (i love chatting with everyone)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is absolutely the bane of my existence. 
> 
> Song lyric title from: Walls - All Time Low
> 
> Comments, Kudos, Cookies, Whatever the hell you want -- much appreciated. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr: murphysurvived.


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